Three

  Chase came beside me, standing quietly. We both watched the musicians, who’d slowed their song to a haunting melody. A woman began to sing, her voice lifting above the conversations and clatter of dishes. A song without words.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, rubbing the goose bumps that had streaked down my arms. For some reason the song reminded me again of Truck, killed by Reinhardt. And Sean, and Billy, and finally, my mother. “Is it strange to be having a party when people are out there dying?”

  Chase moved the food around on his plate, not yet having taken a bite.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “After the War at some of the camps around the city people would play music like this. They had weddings, too. Everyone was invited, even if you didn’t know the person. Sometimes the people that got married didn’t even know each other.”

  He glanced below my chin, to the necklace that carried his mother’s ring. My someday promise.

  “Why do it then?” I asked.

  “You’d be surprised what you’ll do when you think there’s no tomorrow,” said Chase. “Everything feels more intense. Everything you ever wanted to do, you’ve got to do it right now. You might not have another chance.”

  I looked out over the dancers, the children, delighted by the festivities. Was that what this was? A last attempt to enjoy life before the end? I closed my eyes, part of me wishing I could join them. I didn’t know the steps, but maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe all that mattered was wanting to.

  Two girls led Kaylee into the circle. Her hair was braided back in pigtails, making her look younger than she had when she’d talked to me about her father in Greeneville. The two girls spun in a circle, and then she followed, until they fell into a heap of limbs and laughter.

  Chase smiled, the kind of smile that made my heart leap just to see it. I was suddenly warm and light, and I reached out to touch his cheek, my fingers skimming down to his chin. There was nowhere I’d rather be than with him, right now.

  “I’ve never been to a dance,” I confessed. “Mom and I used to in the house sometimes. And Beth—we played around when I was little.”

  He tilted his head toward the music. “Are you asking me to dance?”

  “No,” I said quickly, pinning my hands at my side. “I don’t know how.”

  But yes. I wanted to dance just as much as I was afraid of looking foolish.

  Before he could say anything more about it I walked to another fire and found us a place on the ground where he could eat. We made small talk with the people around the circle, and I wasn’t surprised to learn that a great many more than I’d anticipated had once served our country.

  It was in one of these conversations that I learned of another sniper shooting. The female soldier with the short hair was the one to break the news.

  “They haven’t caught the sniper from what I’ve heard,” she said, leaning back against a felled trunk and tossing twigs into the fire. The flames seemed to brighten in contrast with the growing darkness, and the scent of smoke was sharp in my nose and eyes.

  “What happened to the one they caught in Greeneville?” I asked, careful not to reveal too much about Cara.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is there was another shooting, same style, three days back. Near the Red Zone border. One of the Carolinas, I think.”

  I wondered if someone had taken up Cara’s cause. It could have been anyone. A copycat, or a disgruntled civilian. Or it could have been someone working for Three. Teams had gone in and out of Endurance while we were there—I wondered if they’d had anything to do with it.

  It occurred to me that this may have contributed to Reinhardt’s public announcement and Truck’s execution.

  “Do you know anything about Mexico?” I asked.

  “Big country below the border,” she said. “Used to have great food. Spicy, though.”

  “Not exactly what I meant,” I said.

  She tilted her head. “I know most of the big shots took the boat there when Reinhardt started hunting folks down.”

  “So there is a boat.”

  She snorted. “Course there’s a boat. What are you supposed to do, swim from Tampa?”

  “I guess not,” I said, trying to picture the state of Florida on the old president’s map—an evacuated zone since its fall in the War.

  She grinned at me then. “Keeping your options open, huh?”

  I didn’t answer, but she nodded anyway.

  “Smart,” she said. “I would too if my name was all over those Statutes.”

  Word had spread quickly. I shivered, but the fear was too deep to shake off. It was like before, in Knoxville, when people recognized me as the sniper, but worse because now I was asking them to fight, even risk dying, to bring down the MM.

  I realized that Jesse had sat down on a log across the fire, and had drawn the attention of most of the others, Chase included. He was midway through a story when I tuned in, and as he spoke I couldn’t help but become entranced, all questions of what had occurred in the library drifting away.

  “When the old man saw that his grandson had stolen his mother’s basket he told him of the two wolves battling inside of him,” said Jesse, his voice deeper somehow. Wiser. “The first wolf feeds on anger and fear. Weakness and lies. He is thin with sickness and doubt, but fights with sharp teeth and long claws. The other is clean and good. He is bravery and kindness and truth, and his coat is always stained with the blood of the wounds given by his brother.

  “This frightened the boy, who asked his grandfather which wolf would eventually destroy the other.”

  Jesse lifted his chin and looked directly at Chase. “Which wolf wins, nephew?”

  All eyes turned to face us.

  Chase cleared his throat.

  “The one you feed,” he said.

  A reflective quiet fell over the circle, the crackling and pop of wood Jesse’s only applause. Since seeing him with the president, my opinion of him had grown softer. I hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning his nephew, but I could see now why Chase had.

  I rose and offered Chase my hand.

  “Come dance with me,” I said.

  With a laugh he reached for me, and I had to lean all my weight back in order to pull him up.

  “No one’s dancing anymore,” he said, a small dimple forming on one cheek. It was true; the musicians were facing each other now, speaking a language I didn’t know.

  “Come dance with me,” I said again. I’d come to understand something while Jesse was talking. There was more to me than what I’d become, a part only Chase could access. And if I didn’t feed it, it would die.

  With both of my hands surrounding his, I led him over to the space before the musicians. People cheered for us but I barely heard them. The old president smiled my way but I wasn’t embarrassed. Chase’s fingers spread around my waist and dragged my hips close, and his back rounded beneath my grasp. He took the lead, rocking gently from side to side, leading me, guiding me. Reminding me.

  “There you are,” he whispered in my ear. “I found you.”

  We danced until the last musician packed up his instrument and disappeared into the woods. And then I led Chase up past the falls, to the place where he could finally take a bath.

  CHAPTER

  17

  THE next morning we left before dawn in a truck with a newly patched tire. The previous night we’d revised our trip, accounting for this unexpected stop, and mapped out the rest of our journey based on the locations of the posts DeWitt had given us. Our next stop was in central Tennessee. The refugees stayed behind with the others, and as we descended from the mountains, I watched the compound blend with the low-hanging clouds and couldn’t help but think there was a storm coming.

  Outside Tennessee I returned to the back of the truck, surrounded by my Statutes. We’d left some behind at the president’s camp for the soldiers to spread around the nearby towns, but the bulk would be distributed by the MM. I wondered how many had already been stuck to
houses, schools, and shops around the Midwest.

  The truck was stopped once at a road block; I heard the voices of the soldiers outside questioning our purpose. Not more than five minutes passed before we moved on, but I don’t think I truly breathed until we were back to driving at a steady pace.

  DeWitt had given us the location of a contact in Chattanooga, and we parked on the second floor of an old aquarium parking garage to wait.

  An hour passed before they arrived. Three women, all dressed in Sisters of Salvation uniforms. The oldest had to be in her seventies; her silver hair was pinned back, and her skirt was pulled up just below her bra. The youngest would have been my mother’s age. She was pretty, but had a sour look on her face, and tried to hide the gun in her waistband with an oversized blouse. The third looked too polished to be a Sister; her raven hair hung in short, neat curls around her high cheekbones. She held a notepad and a pencil in one hand, and made me nervous.

  “Three of you,” said the old woman. “Three of us. Quite a coincidence.”

  “There’s no coincidence,” said Jesse, and I winced, thinking that Billy would have made four. The woman nodded.

  “You’ll forgive us for not bringing you home to the roost,” said the old woman, holding Chase’s hand while she spoke. “Given the circumstances with the other posts, we’d rather not risk discovery.” Her voice was brittle, but her back was ramrod straight.

  “We understand,” said Chase.

  The woman with the notepad raised her brows at me. “I have to admit, I never thought I’d see you two alive.” There was something familiar about her voice, the way she articulated every single word. The muscles in my shoulders tensed.

  “Faye,” warned the sour-faced woman.

  “You have powerful friends,” she said, tapping her pencil on the paper.

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.

  “Faye Brown,” she answered with a little smirk.

  “AKA Felicity Bridewell,” said Sour Face.

  “The reporter,” I recognized, and felt my lips draw back. “You reported on Truck’s execution.”

  “And my AWOL,” said Chase. “You almost got us arrested.”

  The farmhouse with the barred windows. The stolen bike. Our escape in the middle of the night. The memories were all too clear.

  “No,” she said. “You almost got you arrested. I just made you famous for it.”

  I took a step closer. “What are you doing here?” I looked to the old woman. “What’s she doing here?” It occurred to me too late that this might be a bust. I stopped short and glanced back at the truck.

  “Didn’t know you’d have such high-priority visitors, did you Jane?” Felicity—or Faye, whatever her name was—asked the old woman.

  “Felicity’s with us.” Jane frowned. “She’s also employed by the FBR as a newscaster.”

  She may have been working both sides, but that didn’t ease my mind as it had with Marco and Polo. She’d done a lot of damage with her words.

  “While we’re making introductions, this is Ember Miller and Chase Jennings,” Felicity announced. “AWOL and…” She tapped her lip with the pencil. “Reform school runaway turned sniper, am I right? You two are still big news in this region. Congratulations.”

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Haven’t been in the game too long, have you?” she surmised, writing something on her notepad. Before thinking twice I’d slapped it out of her hand. The pencil rolled across the ground and she stopped it with her foot and bent slowly to retrieve it. Behind me, Jesse chuckled.

  “We were nearly killed because of your reports,” I snapped.

  “Look,” she said. “I just read what comes across my desk. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Maybe you could report something worthwhile,” I said. “What the Bureau’s doing to the Article violators, or their own soldiers that go AWOL. Those would be real stories.”

  “I’d be dead in five minutes,” she retorted. “And then who would give you your precious intel?”

  “Ease up,” said Jane to the reporter. She looked to me with apology in her eyes. “Faye’s provided your organization with a lot of Bureau secrets over the years.”

  “By way of Truck,” said Sour Face. “God rest his soul.”

  Felicity dropped her injured expression at the mention of his name.

  “Look,” she said, her tone not quite so biting. “I’m one of a handful of female reporters left in the country. The entire country. The FBR is not exactly the most inclusive workplace for women.” She inhaled through her nostrils. “I’m only there because they need to appeal to the illusion that they’re still looking out for everyone’s best interests. Felicity Bridewell: the token girl. If they knew I was here, I’d be no better off than you two.”

  “That’s very sweet of you,” I said.

  “Heard anything interesting lately?” Jesse asked Felicity.

  “That depends,” she answered, chin lifted. “You don’t get yours until I get mine. That’s the way I work.”

  Jesse smirked. “I bet it is.”

  “What do you want?” asked Chase. She turned to him, but wilted under his intimidating glare.

  “A ride to the safe house,” she said. “Since his assassination attempt, Chancellor Reinhardt’s been on a witch hunt. Anyone with field connections is being brought in for questioning.” She air-quoted the word. “Things are getting a little too hot here for my taste.”

  “A ride to the safe house,” I said. “I’m sure we can arrange that.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “And yet somehow I’m not convinced.”

  “It’s gone,” said Chase bluntly.

  “Gone?” said Sour Face. “What do you mean gone?”

  Jane crossed herself and muttered a quiet prayer.

  Felicity paled, but gained composure quickly. “What happened to it?”

  “The FBR flattened it. I guess that didn’t come across your desk,” said Chase.

  The look on her face indicated that it had not.

  “Where am I supposed to go now?” she asked, more annoyed than afraid. Even if the soldiers at the old president’s hideout hadn’t explicitly told us not to direct anyone else that way, I wasn’t sure I would tell this woman about it.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “The same place any of us are supposed to go.”

  “Well that’s reassuring,” she said.

  “You’ll lay low with us until this clears,” said Jane.

  Felicity’s mouth had pulled tight, and she gave one curt nod. “There’s an informant that’s been turned by the FBR. He’s feeding the locations of the posts to the FBR. He’s got some sort of deal worked out with Reinhardt.”

  “What kind of deal?” asked Jesse.

  “I don’t know,” said Felicity. “No one knows his name or location. He talks directly with the chief on a private radio frequency.”

  “No one has seen him?” asked Chase.

  “No one I know,” she said.

  This wasn’t new news; we knew someone was selling out the resistance. The only thing that had changed was that we now knew whoever it was had connections with Reinhardt.

  “That’s all I’ve got,” said Felicity. She paused, and then looked at Jesse. “I hope Three’s planning on making the Bureau pay for this.”

  I didn’t like the woman, but on some level I understood her. She was risking a lot with no way out.

  As the sun peeked through the concrete pylons, we told them that Three planned to attack Reinhardt’s party in Charlotte. I removed a Statute from the boxes designated for this post that Jesse had begun to unload and gave it to Jane.

  “Three can’t fight the FBR alone,” I said. “We need help. If everyone stood together, they’d have to listen.”

  Jane rubbed the heel of her hand over her collarbone.

  “This town is afraid,” she said. “Last year the Blues came through on one of their census runs and tore this place apart. There’s not many still here that
would even consider fighting back.”

  “Maybe they just need a little motivation,” suggested Jesse. My mind flashed to the cemetery and the soldier in the cage, and I wondered morbidly if he’d helped provide some motivation there, too.

  Felicity’s brows lifted, and I wasn’t the only one who saw her gaze drift down to his grinning mouth.

  “We’ll do what we can with these Statutes,” said Sour Face. “There’s another printing press in Dalton. We’ve got a source inside that might be willing to double your efforts. I suggest you make that your next stop.”

  My heart lifted. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she said.

  * * *

  THAT night we stayed at a checkpoint within the city. An old abandoned apartment in a rough neighborhood, where the growls of stray dogs and the drunken laughter from the drug houses penetrated the plastic covering the windows. In the living room was a metal trash can where a fire had been lit, and Chase and I gathered around it, neither of us mentioning the difference between this night and the last.

  Jesse came into the room after dark, pulling the hood of a sweatshirt over his head.

  “I’m going out,” he said.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Uh…” Jesse smirked. “To visit a friend.”

  “A friend you made earlier today?” asked Chase flatly, and I remembered the way Felicity had looked at him in the garage.

  “We should stay together,” I said.

  “You’re welcome to come,” offered Jesse, spreading his arms wide. When I rolled my eyes, he shrugged. “Your call, neighbor. I’ll be back before dawn.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  Chase and I sat and ate with a few more people awaiting a transport that might never come. After dark I told them about reform school, and then Chase and I recounted the story of our escape from the Knoxville base. It sounded different than it ever had before that night. There was a layer of separation that hadn’t been there before, as if we were talking about two other people entirely.

  I fell asleep leaning against the wall, on a crinkly trash bag that separated my thin layer of clothes from the dirty, shredded carpet. I didn’t stay out long. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke to find Jesse kneeling before a still sleeping Chase. As I watched, Jesse adjusted the tattered blanket that had fallen off his nephew’s shoulder. His lips were moving, but no sound came out. Then his head bowed, and he scraped a hand over his skull.